“Cheater, Cheater, Canvas Eater”

There’s a strange chant that echoes through the hallowed halls of art shows, Instagram comments, and YouTube videos:

“You’re cheating!”

It’s not about cheating on your taxes. Or poker.

It’s about … painting.

Say the words “photo reference” and the pitchforks come out.

Mention a projector and suddenly you’re a fraud with a brush.

These folks act like the ghost of Rembrandt is watching over your shoulder with a clipboard, grading your process.

I guess you’re wondering when I realized I was a ‘cheater.’

Let me tell you a little story.

I was painting live at a show … just doing my thing, canvas on easel, oil paint on the palette, my iPad on a tripod beside me with a photo reference open on the screen. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a man walk by with a friend. He stops, leans over to his friend while pointing at the iPad, and says loud enough for both of us to hear:

“Oh … he’s cheating.”

Then he just walked off like he’d uncovered some dark secret.

I stood there, brush mid-air, completely stunned.

Cheating?

Did I just get accused of artistic infidelity? Should I feel guilty? Should I call a priest? Should I paint faster before the art police arrive?

No. I should keep painting—because that guy had no idea what he was talking about.

There’s a group of people in the art world (and honestly, they’re in every field) who believe in something I call the “Purity Myth.”

Real artists, … they say … shouldn’t use projectors.

Real artists don’t trace.

Real artists don’t use photo references.

Real artists draw everything from imagination while blindfolded and juggling knives on fire. Or something like that.

They romanticize suffering like it’s a badge of honor. As if struggling through bad proportions makes the art more virtuous. I hate to break it to them, but no collector has ever said, “Wow, I really love how inaccurate that elbow is … it’s so authentic.”

Here’s a thought:

If you’re so concerned about cheating, maybe stop pretending the 1600s were the golden age of truth. Rembrandt and Vermeer were already playing with optics and camera obscuras (early projection systems). They were innovators. If they lived today, they’d have studio assistants named Siri and a Photoshop subscription.

You know what they wouldn’t do?

Sit in the dark churning their own rabbit-skin glue just to earn someone’s moral approval.

Let’s talk about the irony for a second.

The guy who called me a cheater? He likely got into a car with GPS, drove to an art show in climate-controlled air, snapped a pic of my painting with a smartphone built by robots, posted it online using Wi-Fi, then went home to drink purified water from a faucet and binge-watch Netflix in his boxer shorts. (Sorry for the last visual … it made me chuckle.)

But I’m the one cheating because I used an iPad to reference a photo?

Dear sir … you’re not mad about me cheating. You’re just romanticizing a struggle you don’t actually live.

You don’t churn your own butter, wash your clothes in the river, or whittle your toothbrush out of bark.

You use tools. We all do. That’s called progress. That’s called… being alive in THIS century.

Tools Are Neutral … The Art Is Not.

Let’s make something clear:

A projector doesn’t make you a great artist.

A photo doesn’t paint the painting.

An iPad doesn’t mix your colors, find your composition, or pull emotion from your soul.

I’ve spent decades learning how to draw, paint, and see the world through an artist’s eye. The tools just help me channel that faster and more efficiently. Using a projector doesn’t make me lazy … it makes me strategic. It helps me spend more time on storytelling and emotion instead of measuring skull widths with a ruler.

The art is still mine.

The choices.

The brushwork.

The life I pour into every square inch.

Let’s go back to that name everyone loves to drop: Rembrandt.

Do you really think the guy who invented his own lighting setups, experimented with etching, and ran a workshop like a small factory wouldn’t be using everything he could get his hands on today?

He’d be streaming live tutorials.

He’d have a stylus in one hand and a brush in the other.

He’d be using 3D models, Photoshop overlays, AI-generated composition sketches … and still painting circles around all of us.

Because it’s not the tools that made him great.

It was the vision.

Somewhere along the way, we picked up this idea that struggle equals integrity.

That the harder the process, the more noble the result.

But that’s not art. That’s martyrdom.

And I didn’t get into painting to suffer … I got into it to express, to explore, and to hopefully connect with other human beings on a deeper level.

So if a tool helps me do that more efficiently, more beautifully, or more joyfully, I’ll use it.

And I won’t apologize for it.

To the artists out there (whether you’re drawing on a napkin or an iPad, tracing a projection or sketching freehand) I see you. Your work is valid. Your process is yours. Don’t let anyone shrink your creative spirit with outdated rules and guilt trips.

And to the folks standing in front of my booth muttering about cheating?

I’ll let you in on a secret:

The only real cheat is judging someone else’s work without understanding the heart behind it.

The rest of us will be over here …

creating,

evolving,

and unapologetically using whatever tools we need to bring beauty into the world.

No, all that is left to do is to copy and paste this blog.